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Who born on Earth, yet leaves his native Glades,
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And to his own prefers the watery Meads;
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Oft have I strove to burst the yielding Planks,
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And force the leaky Ship on sandy Banks:
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What happy Chance has pleased the smiling Boy?
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The Nymph he loves is sure no longer coy.
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With fiercest Rage I'd seize the trembling Fair;
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Neither her Anger nor her Tears should move,
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My Blood's on fire, and I am full of Love.
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My Head's so wondrous light, I scarcely find
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Whether I move on Waves or dance on Wind.
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So altered, Triton! whence proceeds this Change,
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So unexpected, sudden, and so strange?
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A settled melancholy Gloom, but now
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Seemed, like a Storm, to hang upon your Brow;
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No Herb was found to cure the fond Disease.
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If I can use my Tongue, I'll tell thee, Love,
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What does my Soul to sudden Transports move:
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Meeting the scattered Ruins of a Wreck,
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As shivered Masts, Planks, and a broken Deck,
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Amid the rest a floating Cask I found
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Stopped up with artful Care, and strongly bound,
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Curious to know what was within contained,
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With cautious Fear I searched; my Fingers stained
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Came forth all moistened with a juicy Red;
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But o! the Gods never on such Nectar fed.
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Pleased with the heavenly Taste, and spicy Smell,
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I quaffed full Bowls in a capacious Shell.
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You Gods! if earthy Men thus live, and drink,
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Give me the Land, the Sea's a worthless Sink.
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The precious Draughts my fainting Spirits cheer;
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I thus inspired no mortal Mer-man fear.
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I rule the boundless Seas, and now I reign
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Sole Lord, and mighty Monarch of the Main.
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This Oil has so inflamed my secret Fire,
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I burn impatient with the fierce Desire.
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No Nymph, or old, or ugly, now I scorn;
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Which feeds the happy Youth with fancied Bliss?
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I long to taste the Juice that thus inspires
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AH Thou! whom Nature and thy Stars designed,
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At once the Joy and Envy of Mankind,
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To thy loved Memory this Sigh I send;
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To thee a Stranger, to thy Lines a Friend:
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How blessed the Muse could she like thine aspire,
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So smooth her Accent, and sublime her Fire;
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With bright Description make the Bosom glow,
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Charm like thy Sense, and like thy Numbers flow:
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OH teach my Soul to reach the Seats divine,
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And praise her Maker in a Strain like thine.
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You careless Ones, who never thought before,
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Read this grand Verse, then tremble and adore:
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Let stern Enthusiasts here be taught to know,
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It's from the Heart true Piety must flow:
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Here Hope, Content, and smiling Mercy shine;
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And breathe celestial through the speaking Line:
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From the still Mind its guilty Passions roll,
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Let angry Zealots quarrel for a Name,
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The good, the just, the virtuous are the same:
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Grace to no Sect, nor Virtue is confined;
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They blend with all, and spread amongst the kind;
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And the pure Flame that warms the pious Breast:
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Those cannot merit who condemn the rest.
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To the dark Nations when Religion came,
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All dressed in Smiles; they saw the heavenly Dame,
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Till some stern Teachers of their Office proud,
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And veiled her Beauties in the mask of Rage:
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Black Cruelty with fierce and flaming Eyes;
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And Persecution wore the Robe of Zeal:
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Deluded Faith espoused the stronger Side,
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And conquered Justice gave her Sword to Pride.
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This saw the surly discontented Mind,
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By Nature haughty and to Vice inclined:
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And thence concluded all their Systems vain,
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The Cant of Schools and Frenzy of the Brain:
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From hence the Sect of Libertines arose,
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Who scorn what Reason or the Priests impose:
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Who give to Chance the World's that round us roll,
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But thou whose Name immortal as thy Rhymes
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Shall live and brighten through succeeding Times:
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Whose Lines can Wit and Virtue both inspire,
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Whom future Ages shall like me admire
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Teach me between the two Extremes to glide,
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Not brave the Stream nor swim with every Tide:
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But more with Charity than Zeal possessed,
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Keep my own Faith, yet not condemn the rest.
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OUR Scottish dames for virtue still be famed;
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With Trojan, or with Roman matrons named.
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Still to despise ' -- the man who can betray;
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And, masked in friendship, leads our minds astray!
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Still to admire the brother's braver arms;
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Still to despise a Paris' meaner charms.
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Behold great Hector ' -- issue from the walls.
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As each bold Briton who aspires to fame,
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Still in his eye, some brave some honoured name,
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But if great Hector on that fatal day
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Though in his breast his brother's deeds despise,
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Behold for him a sacrifice he lies;
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Behold him stretched ' -- dragged at Achilles' car,
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Who strays from virtue, ever sure to find
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Some dire disaster lags not far behind.
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